


Like Staring into the Sun

by LittleLostPieces



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, PWP, sort of, yellow swim trunks, you know the ones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-30 07:26:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1015797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleLostPieces/pseuds/LittleLostPieces
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis enjoys the predictability of his life.  With so many uncertainties and variables in his line of work, it's nice to find familiarity in the things that he can control.  </p>
<p>Conversely, it is super disturbing to wake up and find something new and wholly unnatural staring back at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Staring into the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this](http://s3-ak.buzzfeed.com/static/2013-10/enhanced/webdr01/21/13/enhanced-buzz-orig-10963-1382376330-34.jpg) and maybe a little of [this](http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2013/10/19/article-0-18D6D9A800000578-381_634x933.jpg). My initial reaction to both was, "Am I having some sort of fever dream?" And then this.
> 
> Thanks to [supernope](http://archiveofourown.org/users/supernope/pseuds/supernope) and feathertofly for looking it over and encouraging me to stop worrying and start posting.

While it's commonly known that life on the road is rather chaotic, Louis can always be certain of a few things. He'll always go to bed far too late and be dragged awake far too early. He'll always make shit dietary choices and hide from as much exercise as is humanly possible. He'll always feel equal parts too busy to breathe and bored out of his mind. He'll always miss home and his family so badly it aches like a vice squeezing in his chest.

He'll fall in love all over again with performing and with Niall every time they step foot on a stage. He'll fall in love with Liam and Zayn every time they fire up a game console or work through another new song. He'll fall in love with Harry every time he trips, fumbles, or makes a general idiot of himself. 

The point is that Louis enjoys the predictability of his life. With so many uncertainties and variables in his line of work, it's nice to find familiarity in the things that he can control. 

Conversely, it is super fucking disturbing to wake up and find something new and wholly unnatural staring back at him. 

Waking up to the sound of Harry's humming or, more often than not, Harry's swearing as he trips over everything in his path from the bed to the bathroom door, isn't unusual. The sun shining directly in Louis' eyes when he wakes up is new, though. Also, it's the sun, which has no business shining not only straight in his face, but also _inside_ his room, at the end of his bed. He blinks a few times because, even in his sleep-addled state, he knows that the sun can't actually be here in his room. That's insane.

But how else is he supposed to explain the eye-stabbing glare of yellow staring back at him, bright as midday, in the early morning hours? What else on Earth would be so shockingly Day-Glo?

“Harry?” he grumbles, his voice thick and scratched with sleep. 

The sun shifts, rotates, and Harry's torso emerges from the top of it. He holds his fingers to his lips and says, “Go back to sleep,” and Louis is sure now that he must be dreaming. It's also possible that he's losing his mind. They _have_ been on tour for awhile now.

As he struggles to sit, grunting as the duvet wraps itself like tentacles around his bare legs, Louis scrubs the heel of his hand against his eye and blinks again. “What are you _wearing_?” he finally asks when the picture begins to develop into a clearer focus.

It's not the sun at all. It's just a tiny pair of neon swim trunks, clinging sinfully to Harry's ass and thighs. Being so close to the actual sun would probably not spark as much heat in his belly as this particular piece of attire is at the moment.

Oblivious as always, Harry glances down at his trunks and then back at Louis with wide eyes, a pair of sunglasses twirling around in his right hand. “I just bought them. Thought you might like them.”

Louis grunts. “They're very yellow,” he says, rubbing his eyes again, growing slightly more accustomed to the dim lamplight spilling over their shared room.

With his hands on his hips, Harry lowers his head and clears his throat. “A week ago, you asked me, and I quote,” he starts, pitching his voice far higher and whinier than Louis has ever spoken in his life, “What's the point in having a beautiful, younger boy toy if he's going to dress like my dad, get up earlier than my granddad, and play a pointless, pensioner's game for hours on our days off?”

Alright, so maybe he did, in fact, say exactly that. He understands that Harry and Niall both love golf, but they have to get up so early and there's rarely time for sex any other time in their day so Louis is not a fan. He might have been pouting on that particular day, but, “I didn't fucking say it like that!”

Harry smiles and shrugs, turning back to his suitcase and bending over once again. 

If he doesn't know exactly what he's doing right now, Louis will eat this damn duvet. Folding at his waist so that the thin fabric of his shorts stretches taut over his ass, so that Louis can see exactly what Harry is not wearing underneath them, is just foul play.

“Where are you going?” he asks, slumping back against the headboard. Sitting up requires energy Louis doesn't have at this hour, regardless of how loud Liam may think he is first thing in the mornings.

Standing again, Harry stretches his arms over his head, the muscles of his back rolling beneath his skin, long and lean and solid and, fuck everything. As if Louis doesn't wake up annoyingly hard enough already. He doesn't need a blooming visual aid.

“Beach,” is all Harry says, pivoting at his waist, brow furrowed as he searches for something that has escaped his suitcase. It could be anything really. Their room is atrocious after only one day. That's another certainty with Louis, actually. “Where's my towel?”

Louis just shrugs, partially because he doesn't know and partially because he could not possibly be any less bothered about Harry's towel at the moment. “Come here,” he says, reaching one pitiful, grabby hand toward Harry.

Though Harry rolls his eyes, he moves slowly to Louis' side of the bed and smiles down on him. It's a knowing smile, as if to say he is well-aware what these stupid little swim trunks are doing to Louis.

“You can't wear these,” Louis insists, hooking his finger into the waistband to find Harry's skin warm to the touch despite the cool air in the room. “They're obscene. You'll be arrested.”

“I will not be arrested,” Harry assures him, palming the top of Louis' head like it's a goddamn basketball, even though he knows Louis hates that. Well, Louis claims to hate it. The way he presses into the touch like a domesticated house cat probably doesn't make his case for him, though.

Undeterred, even when Harry begins to scratch his fingernails against Louis' scalp, Louis says, “You will. I won't have it. Take them off. Now.”

He's already untying them when Harry outright laughs. “And what would you have me wear instead, hm?”

When Louis looks up, furrowing his brow to highlight his disapproval, Harry is still laughing. “Your golf trousers are nice. You like those.”

“You want me to wear my golf trousers on the beach?” Harry asks, his eyebrows raising.

Louis could honestly not give one, single fuck about any of Harry's pants at the moment, not with the clear outline of his dick pressing against the fabric of his swimsuit so close to Louis' face. “Jesus, they're like hotpants. Where did you get these, Strippers R Us?” he asks when he drops his gaze to the pale expanse of Harry's thighs peeking out below the shorts.

Harry looks like he might protest, but he snaps his mouth shut and tightens his grip on Louis' hair when Louis reaches over to yank the shorts to the floor with both hands. They don't go easily because they're too bloody tight, but never let it be said that Louis is not determined when he wants to be. 

“I don't really have time for,” Harry begins and then bites his statement back with a hissed, “ _Fuck, Louis,_ ” when Louis leans forward to bite at the ridge of Harry's hip bone. “I'm gonna fall on you,” he warns, stumbling toward the bed.

Louis scurries back on the mattress, allowing Harry the room to crawl onto the bed. “Lie down,” he orders, fighting out from beneath the duvet to give his own dick a few sturdy tugs. 

Harry's trunks are still wrapped around his ankles like shackles, his body writhing forward and back until he's comfortably situated before Louis, all stretched long and delicious like a catering buffet. It is entirely possible that this tour has been way too long.

“Well?” Harry asks, impatient eyes narrowed at Louis after only a few seconds. “I said I'm in a hurry.”

“Fuck off,” Louis fires back. He would draw it out more, assert his dominance in this situation for longer, if Harry's abs didn't tighten and jump like that when he laughs. 

Using one hand to steady himself on Harry's stomach – he just woke up, his balance is for shit - he grips tightly to the base of Harry's dick and dips low to bite at the inside of his thigh. Harry whines, which does nothing to deter Louis from sinking his teeth into the thick muscle and warm skin there. If he's honest, he could probably come from just this. He's developed a bit of a fetish for these thighs lately.

That's another challenge for another morning, though. 

There's always a heady intoxication to the first taste of Harry's cock, no matter how many times Louis does this. The combination of Harry's sharp inhalation, the tiny jerk of his hips, and the salty, warm flavor of his skin does something wicked to Louis, something that he's not yet found the exact right words to describe.

Harry isn't fully hard when Louis licks around the head, sucking it into his mouth and popping it back out while his fingers work slowly over the base. It's good that he's not, because there is nothing Louis likes more than feeling Harry's cock growing thicker, fuller, against his tongue, stretching his lips until it's nearly too much, knowing that he's the reason for it. No, there is literally _nothing_ in the world that he likes more. He'd swear to it on a Bible and everything.

He's not prepared for the thrust of Harry's hips, the clasp of his fingers against Louis' shoulder, the breathless grunt that sounds barely like a whisper over the pounding of his own heart in his ears. He pulls away suddenly, choking a bit and blinking the sudden rush of tears away.

Harry slides a hand into Louis' hair. “Sorry,” he says, squeezing at the back of Louis' neck before catching an errant tear with his thumb. “Sorry.”

Louis just smiles and shakes his head. “Don't be,” he says, voice already sounding wrecked after only a few minutes. “More,” he adds with a wink just before he stretches out at Harry’s side and takes him back into his mouth.

Never let it be said that Harry doesn't follow directions well. As Louis slides his mouth further down Harry's cock, Harry begins to roll his hips, shallow thrusts that jab at the roof of Louis' mouth until his jaw aches. He stops moving all together, let's Harry pull at his hair and fuck up into his mouth until Louis feels used and decadent with it.

His own dick brushes against the curve of Harry’s knee, causing Louis to sputter, pulling away again to catch his breath. He throws his head back, gasping for air as he reaches for himself.

“No,” Harry insists, catching Louis' wrist. His own voice is as ragged as Louis' is, which fills Louis with a twisted sense of pride. There's not much better than knowing they're both in the exact same space, tearing each other apart at the same seams. “Just not yet, okay? Please?”

Louis' heart may hammer a hole in his chest at the suggestion, but he nods his agreement because, well, he can't _not_. 

Harry slides one arm down Louis’ back, pressing on the small of his back to encourage him forward, squeezing and kneading his ass while Louis ruts against Harry’s flexing leg. While he can’t say he doesn’t love have Harry sprawled beneath him, these long legs wrapped around Louis and pulling him ever closer, this position’s not awful, either.

Louis' fingers draw lazy patterns against Harry's balls until they're drawing up tight and Harry's words begin to speed up in a way that no one outside this room would ever believe him capable. The head of Harry’s dick pops Louis’ cheek out when Louis rolls his head to catch a glimpse of Harry’s face, eyes squeezed tightly shut, his fingers gripping hard enough to bruise against Louis' ass now. 

Louis pulls off, working his hand quickly against Harry's dick, holding the head against his open mouth, his tongue darting out to give a lick every time Louis pants for another burst of air. “C'mon, babe,” he says, though he can barely manage more than a ragged whisper now. Whether it's the sound of his voice or the filthy words that Louis is using to encourage him, Louis can't be sure but Harry shouts when he comes against Louis' lips, thick and warm as it drips over Louis' chin and onto Harry's own stomach.

“That's it,” Louis adds, thrusting his own hips faster now, resting his forehead against Harry's stomach as he rubs himself against Harry’s leg.

Harry is breathless when he smacks his hand haphazardly against Louis’ back and says, “C’mere. Up here.” He gives a lazy nod toward his legs, crossing his ankles and pressing his thighs tightly together. It’s not fair that he has the greatest legs _and_ the ability to read Louis’ mind. 

He digs his fingers into Harry’s abs, his hold slipping against the sweat and come pooling under his hands as he swings a leg over Harry and sits. He has to arch and bend into the groove between Harry’s thighs, but when his cock begins to drag against the skin, he's mesmerized by the way Harry stretches and flexes his muscles in response. His skin is pale, soft goosebumps evident beneath the dark hairs there, a stark contrast to the flushed color of Louis’ dick. He feels primal, so raw and needy, that Louis is scared to raise his head, to meet Harry’s eye.

When he does look up and finds Harry staring back at him, Louis has to drop his head again. He thought Harry’s shorts were bright, but they have nothing on the unbridled affection in Harry’s eyes now. It’s too much, the surge of confidence he finds in the simple knowledge that Harry wants him. 

He's tempted to slow down, to revel the feeling of Harry's body under his, when Harry says, “Come on, Louis, come on me. Won't even wash it off. Just wear it under my shorts all day. If there are pictures, you'll know. Only you.” He's still talking when Louis comes with a shouted garble of letters that can hardly be considered a word and then falls forward, the force of it taking him by surprise as he croaks Harry's name into his skin over and over again.

They lie together in silence for only a minute, Louis on top of Harry, heaving wet breath against each others' shoulders. 

“Lou,” Harry finally says, his fingers trailing lightly over Louis' spine.

“Hm?” Louis responds, turning to rest his cheek against Harry's chest. 

“I gotta go.”

“No.”

“Yes,” Harry counters with a soft laugh.

Louis leans back just enough to see the happy flush in Harry's cheeks. “Alright, fine,” he concedes, rolling onto his side. “Go on then. Don't wanna keep you.”

“You're going back to sleep, aren't you?” Harry asks, pressing a kiss to Louis' temple before he makes his way to his feet.

Louis just nods, though he’ll probably get up and shower instead. Or he will just as soon as his legs work again.

He does manage to pry one eye open when Harry stands, waddling toward the bathroom while trying to pull his shorts up at the same time. The boy is a menace to his own feet on a good day. He's bound to fall and break his nose if he tries to multitask.

When he returns from the bathroom, he's carrying a damp flannel in one hand and still struggling with his shorts in the other. It's probably somewhat gross that Louis is still a bit turned on from the sight of his own come beginning to dry on Harry's thighs. It doesn't get any better when Harry pulls his swim trunks into place runs the flannel over his stomach but, true to his word, leaves his legs untouched. Fuck, but Louis loves that kid.

“Alright, I'm late,” Harry announces when he's sufficiently cleaned. He walks over to the bed and kisses Louis quickly, pulling away before Louis can turn it into anything more interesting.

“Have fun,” Louis calls, his voice cracking and fading, throat burning a bit in the best way possible.

So sometimes things deviate a bit from Louis' established routine. Sometimes he's more than okay with that.

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, you can find me on [tumblr](http://littlelostpieces.tumblr.com/) as well.


End file.
